Falling Apart
by Crystal Sampson
Summary: When Sherlock jumps in front of John's eyes, John is left not knowing what to think. He is lost with out the great detective, that is until Sherlock returns. But not everything is as it was. Will both men be able to adapt to their new lives in time to catch the latest threat to London? Slow start, but it gets better.
1. Chapter 1

So this is my first fanfic. Be kind. It will be a slow build, so if you are impatient, this is not the story for you.

The standard disclaimer applies. I do not own anything that you recognize. That all belongs to BBC and co. Why else would I be writing fanfiction?

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Gone. The one man in the entire world who made him feel alive was gone. The selfish bastard had not even had the good sense to take John with him.

John looked down on the black stone. Somehow that stone seemed to fit Sherlock; dark, strong, and immovable. It was also startlingly blank like all the times the man had refused to explain his plans or gotten so tied up in his experiments that he couldn't be bothered to hear what was said to him. But that wasn't right. Sherlock could express more in a single look than most people could in a thousand words. Especially if he thought you were an idiot.

John felt the heat of his own anger welling up and found himself talking to Sherlock, wherever he was, because he most certainly was not dead. John was certain. There was no way that the great Sherlock Holmes, the world's only consulting detective, was dead. That meant that he had to come back.

"Sherlock, for me. Don't be... dead. Would you do that just for me? Just stop it. Stop this."

John pulled himself away. He would accomplish nothing here. He still had the dreaded dinner with the Holmes family. He would not be going except Mycroft had asked in that tone of voice that implied he could go under his own volition or he could be kidnapped. John Watson might not have much left to him after this whole ordeal, but he had his pride. He would go to Mycroft's dinner, try not to punch the slimy git for causing this whole mess, and then he would crawl home and sleep for ten years until this all sorted itself out.

The Holmes family dinner was exactly as bad as expected. John showed up prepared for the normal post funeral gathering. Since that typically included family and close friends, John assumed it would be a very small group. Instead he was faced with an impromptu dinner party.

Mycroft greeted him at the door with his wan smile. "John, good of you to come. You're just in time."

"Yes, well," John said, very much aware that his rough coat looked more than a little worn compared to the other's on the eldest Holmes's arm. "I was under the impression it was not optional."

"Just so." Mycroft waved over a passing maid and handed her his armload of coats. "Mummy would have been so disappointed if you hadn't come. She's been looking forward to meeting you for ages."

"I can't imagine why."

"You will have to ask her, but I think it is curiosity. Since he left home, Sherlock has never been able to live with anyone else. Not even at the University. He was -"

"An insufferable know-it-all and a nightmare to live with?"

Mycroft's lips quirked, but he continued on as though John had not spoken. "-rather temperamental. Come, we should go to dinner."

As Mycroft turned and began to lead the way down a side hallway, John stared after him. Mycroft possessed a rare talent for understatement. Sherlock had been so much more than temperamental. Mercurial would have been a better word. Capricious. His mood could swing from the blackest depression to a euphoric high in the span of seconds and once engaged in something, he would focus on that to the exclusion of all else. He had once ignored John for three days, except to drink the tea he was brought, when he thought he had found a link between blood coagulation and arsenic content. The flat had been a hazard area and John had refused to eat there for an entire week.

"John, you don't want to keep Mummy waiting."

John mentally berated himself. He could not go losing himself like that here. Not in front of Sherlock's family. This was going to be a long night.

To distract himself, he snuck a glance around as he followed Mycroft. "This is where you grew up?" Everything was white. White windows. White walls. Even the floors were made of white marble. John had a hard time picturing any child growing up here, much less Sherlock. It was too neat and too sterile. Even Mycroft, who John had come to associate with big leather chairs and good liquor seemed out of place against the grandness of the house.

"Yes. Sherlock and I had rooms on the second floor of the house. The third was dedicated to my father's work and the extensive library that he kept."

"So that's where he started learning to be a know it all."

"He was never granted permission to use the library after they caught him sneaking books back to his room. Father was particularly strict with his books and he forbid Sherlock from ever stepping foot in there again."

"So of course he picked the lock and did it anyway."

"Naturally."

They emerged into a large dining hall with a huge oak table standing in the center. Their flat would have easily fit into this one room of the house. The setup appeared to be designed to host about a hundred people, although there were only about two dozen seated near the head of the table.

Mrs. Holmes sat at the head of the table wearing a delicate black evening gown and veil. The richness of it was a little alarming and John wondered at why she would wear such a thing, but a quick glance at the other guests showed him to be woefully underdressed in his suit and tie. Mrs. Holmes smiled at Mycroft and John as they approached.

"May I present Dr. John Watson?"

"Dr. Watson. Thank you so much for coming. I have been waiting so long to meet you. Sherlock had been quite reluctant to bring you to see me."

"Mrs. Holmes." John said with a nod.

"I hope you will be able to stay after dinner so I can get to know you."

John did not want to stay one minute longer than he had to, but could see no polite way of turning her down. She was Sherlock's mother after all. "I would be honored."

"Wonderful. Shall we begin?"

Mycroft steered him to his seat, two places down from the head and right next to Mycroft. His one comfort was that he was seated directly next to Lestrade. As John took his place, Lestrade raised a half-filled wine glass in salute to him, then leaned over and whispered, "rich bastards. Think they could buy the moon." John could not help the snort of laughter, but tried to pass it off as a particularly bad sneeze.

The talk was light, polite and polished. Mrs. Holmes was in her element while John felt quite out of his. At one point the talk turned to him. The lady across from him, the one with the tinkling laugh and big doe eyes, spoke to him. "Dr. Watson, I don't think I have seen you at any of Mrs. Holmes's dinners. How do you know the family?"

"I am - was - friends with Sherlock. I helped him with his work and we split rent on a flat."

"But I thought you were a doctor."

"Yes, I am. I work as a doctor part time at a GP."

What did you do before you met Sherlock?" the man sitting next to doe-eyed-girl asked.

"I was in the army. Served with the 5th Northumberland Fusiliers."

"Really? An army doctor?" The girl's eye got even rounder, if that was possible. "What was it like? Where were you stationed?"

"Afghanistan."

"Why did you stop?"

John shifted in his seat. "I was invalided home."

The man across from John leaned in eagerly. "Really? Why?" He was entirely too enthusiastic for John's taste.

"I was shoot."

"Where?" He asked as he edged forward in his seat.

John had no interest in telling this story again to a bunch of strangers. "In the shoulder," he said gruffly.

Catching his tone, the couple sat back and focused on their meals for a moment before the girl with the doe eyes spoke again. "Is that why you went gallivanting off with the youngest Holmes?"

"Sherlock was brilliant and courageous and the best friend I could have asked for. He saved me from myself, and I enjoyed helping him when I could. I owe him my life many times over."

"My brother was a lucky man the day he met Dr. Watson." Mycroft interjected, saving John from embarrassing himself further. "The good doctor has managed to keep an eye on Sherlock and keep him out of danger where he could."

"Oh, I'm terribly sorry. I meant no disrespect. I was only curious." John gave a tight nod and started down his plate.

What were these people doing? Sherlock Holmes, the greatest man who had ever lived, was dead and these people sat around eating smoked salmon and talking about nothing and acting as if they were better than him. They had no idea what Sherlock had done.

Greg caught his elbow and leaned in. "You alright?" he whispered.

"No." John said. "How can they sit here and do this. Talk about him like..."

"Like the heartless bastards they are?"

"I suppose."

"It's just human nature John. With the exception of his brother and mother, no one here ever had anything to do with Sherlock. They only ever knew him as the eccentric member of the Holmes family. They don't understand and they don't know any better. Forget them."

John managed a weak smile for the detective before retreating into himself. He just wanted this whole fiasco to be over.

He managed to hold his tongue and avoid any more conversation until dessert when he suddenly found himself the object of a number of whispers and stares. He tried to ignore them, and when that failed, tried to find the eyes that were staring at him. The one or two he caught staring looked away abashed. Finally, Mrs. Holmes spoke just as dessert was being brought out.

"I thank all of you for coming to help celebrate my son's memory. It gives me hope that so many remember him as fondly as his family and I appreciate your support in our time of grief. The kitchen has prepared a special treat for dessert, Sherlock's favorite. Please enjoy it. Afterward there will be music and we will be receiving anyone who wished to speak with us. Sherlock was a good man and he will be missed."

On cue, waiters brought out dessert and John was disappointed to see a miniature raspberry souffle set before him. This was the best the Holmes family could muster in honor of it's youngest? A few fancy words and a dessert that, unless John was very much mistaken, Sherlock had only pretended to enjoy because he knew Mycroft hated raspberries.

Suddenly John found the entire situation unbearably funny. He could feel laughter bubbling up and he knew he would not be able to hold it back. Greg gave him a questioning look as he rose from the table, but John did not answer it. Instead, back straight, head high, he walked away and back the way he had come, ignoring the calls following him.

He escaped onto the front porch, and just in time too, as he dissolved into a fit of giggles entirely unbecoming in a middle aged, ex-soldier. He couldn't help it. He collapsed against the white rail and laughed until he couldn't breathe. At some point his laughter got confused with crying until he was not sure which he was doing.

That's how Mycroft found him. He was leaning against the railing with tears running down his face and clutching his sides trying to get a breath in. Ever the unflappable brother, Mycroft slid down to sit on the porch with John.

"I meant what I said, John. My brother was a lucky man. I think you saved him in a lot of ways."

"You've got it backwards. He saved me."

"Even so, he was a better man around you. I think we were all relieved that there was someone there to talk some sense into him every now and then."

"You know I can't believe he's gone. I just can't. It doesn't seem right. It's like I know he's still out there somewhere, just laughing at all of us."

"You saw him jump."

"I know what I saw. I know it, but I can't believe it. Besides, if he's gone, what else is there?"

There was silence between them. Mycroft studied John for a long time. He looked as though he wanted to say something but did not quite know how. Before he could, John stood up. "I can't go back in there, Mycroft. I can't."

"I thought as much," he said. He held out John's coat. "I'll make your excuses to Mother. Would you like me to call you a cab?"

"Thanks." John said, taking his coat, "but I think I would rather walk." He set off down the long paved drive towards the main street. It was only when he got to the gate that he remembered he was supposed to be angry with Mycroft. He heaved a long sigh and began the arduous task of finding a taxi at that time of night. He would deal with Mycroft some other time.

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Well there you have it. This chapter is pretty stand-alone since I can't decide if I like where it is going. I thought I would get opinions before I got too deep into the story line.


	2. Chapter 2

Like always, the standard disclaimer applies.

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John awoke to the blaring of his alarm and knew without a doubt it was going to be a Bad Day. If asked, he could not have said how he knew, but he could feel it in his gut. His gut was never wrong about this sort of thing.

Maybe it was the lack of sleep due to the recurring nightmare that had played on repeat all night. Not just any nightmare either, but tThe Nightmare. The one filled with grey skies, fluttering trenchcoats, and crowds of people. The one where he tried over and over to save his best friend. Then again, maybe it was the angle of the sun coming in his window or the stiffness in his leg.

Still, there was no reason to start things out badly. He would get up and get a shower. He would feel better after he had a shower. He'd make his tea, and eat his breakfast, and read his paper. The he would go off work - maybe stop by the coffee shop on his way in. The same thing he did every damn morning.

With a sigh, John flung an arm out to smack the alarm clock and shut off the racket it was making. He rolled himself out of bed and was about to get up for the day when he caught sight of the time. He cursed. How in the world could it be 8:20? He was supposed to be in the office in ten minutes. He wouldn't shower or eat that morning. He would have to settle for finding clean clothes.

John was up and dressed and through the door in record time. It didn't save him from being twenty minutes late to work, but at least it hadn't been thirty. Mary, the latest receptionist, had waved at as he came in the door. She was the newest in a long line of random girls. John had no idea what they were doing to the poor receptionists, but it must have been horrendous. Every few weeks, they had a new one, with the staff filling in between girls. John had stopped trying to learn their names about three girls ago. Mary was different though. She always had a way of charming him out of even the blackest mood and she seemed solid to him, like a rock in the sea. There was something odd about her too, though.

She seemed to always be watching him when she thought he wouldn't notice. Several times she had even made excuses to walk home with him. If it had been any other girl, he might have thought he had picked up an admirer, but sometimes he was sure she was taking notes about what he was doing. Maybe she was just worried about him, but the one thing that made him suspect something more was going on was the problem of the two phones.

Mary had been using the same two phones since she started. One was this horridly pink smartphone. It was the kind of phone that might have been new two models ago, but was now starting to show it's age, even to someone as tech-savvyless as John. She did everything on that phone. He saw her playing games and talking and texting and all the other perfectly ordinary things people did on phones. She also lost it constantly, although how this was possible given the fluorescent color, John would never know. He swore it could probably glow in the dark. She had an annoying habit of setting it down in the examination rooms and leaving it so that when the thing eventually went off, it scared doctor and patient and left Mary searching all over the hospital for it. The doctors had taken to searching the rooms before they began so they would not be interrupted.

Mary had a second phone, as well. This one was sleek and black and new. It looked as though it might have been top of the line. This phone Mary only ever texted with. This phone Mary never, ever - not even in the most hectic situations - left unattended. Not that John was trying to steal her phone. He was just curious. One of the blessings and curses to living with Him, was that he learned to watch for odd things. Nothing so grand as His sweeping deductions, but when things didn't add up, he was often the first to notice.

John asked her about it once. She brushed off the question saying it was a family thing - in case of emergencies. He was not convinced, but he had no way of politely inquiring again, so he let the topic drop, but something did not add up. Why get a seperate phone? Surely it was more trouble than it was worth. Maybe she just didn't want someone to have her real number, but then why talk to them at all? It was a puzzle John thought on often, and one to which he thought he might have an answer, but he did quite dare to hope.

John was beginning to suspect he was being watched. Mary was not the first he had noticed keeping a closer than necessary eye on him. Sometimes, he would get this feeling like he was being watched. He would see someone just too frequently, usually one of the homeless fellows near his work or home. People who always seemed to look away just as he noticed them.

There were days when John was utterly convinced and days when he was sure he made the whole thing up just to feel connected to Him. He knew it was useless. He had seen the whole event, but there was this little part of him that just knew. He never mentioned it to his therapist after that first week. Actually he had quit going after about a month. He knew that if he told her of his suspicions, she might feel she had to intervene before he became a danger to himself or others. John would not have blamed her in the least, either. That was the worst part about this whole mess. He knew there was the possibility that he was just deluding himself and that he had gone round the bend a long time ago.

This was brooding and brooding was not good for him. Not only that, but he had been standing in the doorway staring at the poor girl. His gut was right. It took everything he could muster after his restless night just to smile at her.

She called after him just as he was about to turn down the hall and escape to his office. "John!" Mary summoned him with a wave over to her desk. "Sarah wanted to see you. She said to send you in when you got here."

John sighed. "Of course. Thanks, Mary."

He made his way past his own door and knocked on Sarah's. He cracked open the door and stuck his head in when he heard the muffled "come in."

"You wanted to see me."

"John, come in." She smiled a tight lipped smile at him and gestured towards a chair.

John came to stand behind the chair. "I'm sorry about this morning. I don't know what happened."

"I know. I know," she said with a sigh. "Go on. sit down."

John took his seat reluctantly. "Look, John. I know things have been difficult for you, and really, that you are so dedicated is commendable, but don't you think that maybe it is time for a break?"

This was the last thing that John had been expecting. A scolding perhaps. A warning certainly. It was, afterall the third time this week he had been late. Then he realized what she must be hinting at. "Are you firing me?" He could not let that happened.

"What -"

"Look I know I've been a bit...scattered lately, but I need to be here. You need me. If it's a matter of the time, I'll make it up. I can come in early or stay later a few days. I can -"

"John!" Her sharp tone stopped him in his tracks. "I'm not firing you. You have been nothing but a help here since Sher-" she broke off before she could get the whole word out but it was too late.

Sherlock. John felt a stab at his chest as all the emotions he had been trying to hold back battered at his self control. Sarah noticed.

"It's been what, a year? In all that time, you have not once taken a vacation or called in sick. You are here most days of the week. If your punctuality could use a little work, well, you make up for it with all the extra hours that you work." She sat back in her chair and eyed him over her desk. "When I hired you it was a part time, likely temporary position. No one expects you to kill yourself here, and while I'm glad to see you've started putting in a lot more effort, this isn't healthy. You've got to slow down some time. You can't keep going like this."

"But I haven't done anything wrong."

"No! And think of this as a reward. Take a week. Go to the beach. Read some books. Get drunk. Just do something."

"I can't leave right now. I have patients that I need to see."

"We can manage for one week. It will be fine."

"With all due respect, I don't want to."

"And why not?"

When John didn't answer, she leaned forward to rest on her desk. "Please? Just talk to me. Right now I'm not your boss. I'm just your friend, and I'm worried about you."

John regarded her with curiosity and dread in equal measure. All the air seemed to go out of him.

"I just can't stop. If I stop then I don't have anything to do and all I'm left with is thoughts of Him. It is ridiculous. If I keep working then I don't have to think and my world doesn't fall apart I know it's been a year," he said, feeling the words bubbling to the surface. It had been a long while since he actually spoke to someone. "But sometimes it feels like yesterday. That's all I see at night. I watch Him jump over and over. Other times I know it isn't true. Not just what he said to me - I will always know that was a lie - but that he's even gone.

"Sometimes I just know that he's not dead and I think that he'll just come barging into the flat carrying some disgusting specimen or ranting about something or demanding tea. Not in that it feels like he should, but in that utter certainty sort of way you get about things. Like how you know when something really bad is going to happen but you can't explain it. But then I remember him falling and it all shatters again."

It was a relief to have said it all. He didn't mention the growing hope. The little things, like being watched that he thought he had noticed. He could barely admit it to himself. Besides, he knew he already sounded crazy. There was no need to drive the point home.

"Oh. I never realized." Sarah got up from her desk and came around to sit next to him, taking his hand in hers. "You're still grieving John. Which is to be expected. You two had something special. Something I never quite understood. But, you are going to have to face your feelings eventually. You can't just keep everything locked away like you have been."

"I know," he said, staring at his knees. "I just can't yet."

'I understand. I really do, but the offer stands. When you are ready, you can take all the time you need. Just promise me one thing."

John looked up to meet her eyes. "What's that?"

"Get out and do something every now and then. Don't just sit in that flat and brood. Go out and have a good time. Go to a bar. Go to a movie. Just do something. Okay?"

He gave her a tight smile. "I can't imagine that I'm good company right now, but I'll try."

"Nonsense. I find you to be very good company. I don't think Mary would say no to an evening out either."

John laughed. "Now you're just being ridiculous, but thanks."

"I'm totally serious, but you're welcome anyway. Now, I believe you have patients to see."

John got up and made for the door. Just as he was about to leave, Sarah said, "Oh and do try to be on time tomorrow."

John shut the door chuckling, wondering how much more of this emotional day he could take.

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A/N: So that's chapter two. This was originally the first half or so of a much longer chapter, but it seemed really long to me, so I'm splitting it across two chapters. The good new is that chapter three will probably go up in the next day or so.


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